


Every Little Thing

by RandyWrites



Series: Canon Noncompliance [3]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Justice League Dark (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-09-11 21:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16860592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandyWrites/pseuds/RandyWrites
Summary: drabble collection from tumblr - will edit through later (purge scare has me moving a lot of drabbles over)





	1. Chapter 1

Brushing her bangs from her face, Constantine worried incessantly over the magician as she slept soundly on his couch. It’d been well over three hours (and twenty-eight minutes, precisely) since she’d spent nearly every ounce of her energy in a valiant attempt to stop Brother Night from unleashing Hell on Earth.

And had sent him packing off into the Abyss along with it, too.

It’d been an epic battle, one that left her fainting when all was said and done. One that had John worried that she may have taken things much too far this time. Especially given how all too soundly she slept in the midst of the chaos that had continued around her.

“Please, groan if you’re awake,” John sighed, taking her hand into one of his own and gently squeezing it. He wasn’t a praying man, but desperate times…

“Just… give me… five more minutes, John,” Zatanna mumbled sleepily, pulling her hand out of his and curling into a more comfortable position. And the exorcist started laughing with relief.

“Zee, you’re alive! You’ve got to wake up!” He started shaking her shoulder with excitement.

“ _Teg ffo fo em_ ,” she commanded, and John’s hands were immediately repelled.

“ _Ekaw pu_ , damn you!” he shot back in frustration, regret immediately making itself home in his chest as her eyes shot open into a glare.

“Constantine,” she growled lowly as she began righting herself into a sitting position. “My head’s hammering and my body is aching in places I didn’t even know could be sore. And all I asked.  _Was. Five. Minutes_.” She punctuated each of the last words through gritted teeth.

“Now wait just a minute, luv, ya have to understand! I thought you were done for-”

She reached over to grab him by his necktie, pulling the demonologist in close. He could feel her fingertips sparking electrically with some residual power, her breath hot on his face as she made unblinking eye contact.

“Take me to bed- and no, not like  _that_. Let me have my rest. And then we’ll see about continuing this conversation,  _capiche_?”

He gulped. “Whatever you say, luv,” he whispered as she began to collapse back into the seat. Even threatening him for that short time had taken whatever she had left, right out of her.

He focused instead on helping her sling her arm over his shoulder and carefully supporting her body as he carried her from the living space. He was grateful as the House of Mystery accommodated him by opening the door directly into one of the bedrooms.

Smiling as Zatanna’s snores began filling the room, he took his time in taking her shoes off her feet, and removing her bloodstained jacket. Her own minor cuts and scrapes had begun healing themselves during the near coma-like trance she had been under earlier, not even faint scars left to be found from the deeper wounds that she had earned during her battle.

Truly remarkable, the magic that she had. And John found himself thankful that it was likely the same kind that had saved her life. In the end, she hadn’t needed anyone’s help, but it certainly hadn’t hurt that he’d been there to help pick her up.

And no doubt, she’d want to repay that debt  _sooner_ rather than later.

But those were thoughts better kept until he had the chance to properly pester her over it, naturally.


	2. Chapter 2

“Something you want to take out of your pocket, John?” Zatanna called over her shoulder as the Englishman tried to make a subtle exit.

The museum’s artifacts had been saved, thanks in no small part to Constantine’s efforts as well as the rest of the  _Yoga Pants Club_  that he was so vehemently against teaming up with. The two magicians were among the remaining few overseeing the return and restoration of those same relics that had been so close to being lost.

All except for one particular amulet that appeared to be swapped with a hastily charmed lookalike.

An amulet that the Mistress of Magic distinctly remembered a certain con artist had been the last to snatch from the  _would-be_  burglars.

“Ain’t nothin’ up my sleeves, luv, but you’re more ‘an welcome to pat me down if it helps you sleep soundly tonight.”

He lingered by the entranceway to the hall, hand fidgeting with his unlit cigarette as he shifted from one foot to another.

She knew his game. Appearing nonchalant, giving off the usual air of arrogance, his next step likely being to deflect or counter-accuse her of ulterior motives.

Sure, Zatanna could admit to having ulterior motives, on occasion. But stealing low-level artifacts from museums?

“There’s something you’re not telling me about that amulet, isn’t there?” she accused him, jabbing a finger at his chest to drive it home, “ _Llet em tahw ruoy gnidih._ ” She said it with no intent behind the spell, but the force of habit at such casual magic still had John twitching his mouth open for a moment before he was able to shake off the compulsion.

He frowned as his head began to clear, and leaned closer into Zee’s face then.

“Gonna take more  _force_  than that to get me to-” His eyes grew wide when the magician leaned the rest of the short way to reach his lips with her own.

All Zatanna could smell was the nicotine that never seemed to leave his presence. But it no longer made her as dizzy as it had all those years ago. No, now her headaches could only be blamed on the hell that this man constantly put her through, with his insipid games and selfish outlook.

She broke off the kiss as quickly as she’d surprised him with it, pushing him away and making a beeline for the exit.

“Don’t go falling in love with me again,” she warned lowly as she pocketed the amulet for herself. She’d figure out whether it needed returning or needed proper protection later. For now, she just needed him distracted before realizing that he’d been conned.


	3. Chapter 3

As the Otherkind began separating and picking off their teammates, Zatanna found herself left with only one man who she could trust to have her back. (A bit more literally than she could afford to be amused by at the moment.)

She felt Constantine’s familiar warmth against her own, the overpowering smell of tobacco on his trench coat, and most of all, the cool, chaotic pulse of his magic that gave the atmosphere around them the smallest tinges of unreality. Anything could turn the tide when John brought all of his power out to play like this. A dangerous gambit, but not an unwelcome one.

“ _Thgil peek eht swodahs ta yab_ ,” she commanded, and a wall of energy charged around them as she turned, giving careless orders to the occultist. “Now’s a  _good time_  for that clever mage I know to  _show his hand, please_.” She felt his warmth leave her back then as he crouched down.

“Keep your fishnets on, Zee. I’m working on it.” His hands were quick and precise as he sketched runes into the asphalt beneath them. Zatanna turned full attention back to her weakening shield. Entities made of pure darkness and evil, but who didn’t entirely shun the light, could only be kept away for so long before-

“I know we’re not the  _praying_  types,” John said suddenly, “But  _now_  might be a  _really_  good time to start.”

A final break in her focus, the light dissipated around them.

And the darkness poured in.

“Abra- _fucking_ -cadabra,” the demonologist bit out as he pricked his hand and lay it at the center of his summoning circle.

Pure light and energy burst from the runes, mixing in a cascade of color before settling into a shape of an vaguely bipedal avatar. Not entirely humanoid, but with enough mass to start knocking the entities off of their (what might essentially qualify as) feet.

Battling shapeless forms with another shapeless mass?  _That_  was the exorcist’s  _bright_  idea?

As if he could sense the magician’s disapproval, Constantine leapt to his own defense.

“You wanted  _clever_ ,” John yelled over the cacophony of the battle as his movements mirrored the avatars. And then it clicked into place, exactly what kind of trick he had pulled. Not just an avatar of light, but one that needed to be focused, that needed guidance and control. Control that cost them more time.

“And you  _settled_  for  _stupid_ ,” Zee shot back before turning to face another entity that was trying to sneak behind him, “ _Thgil emoceb ruo dleihs_.” In another burst of energy, it was forced back. She stepped close again to his side, watching his back while he watched hers. “You can’t control it forever, John. We’re going to need something else.”

“I’m all ears then!” Another wide movement of limbs, and another dozen inky entities were swept back.

The beginnings of a plan took shape in the magician’s mind, and she turned to more fully face her partner.

“You trust me?” she asked as they locked eyes. Something in Constantine’s sky blue irises softened, and he sighed after making another quick sweeping motion with his arm.

“With everything.”

She smiled sadly for a moment before leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“ _Citsym latrop ekat em ot S'tsercodahs yrarbil_.”


	4. Chapter 4

As the magician slammed the door in his face, Constantine knew he had effectively put his foot in his mouth one time too many.

Still, he was nothing, if not persistent. And maybe a bit of an idiot.

“Please, Zee, I didn’t mean it like  _that_.”

Her voice was muffled through the door, as she mumbled enchantments in an attempt to soundproof it. Despite her best efforts, John could feel the house’s will fighting against her.

Or maybe fighting  _with_  him. He could never be sure. The House of Mystery didn’t seem to favor him as much as it did Zatanna these days. But maybe, at least in this instance, they had a common goal.

To make her at least a  _little_  less upset again.

He tried the doorknob one more time, frowning as it held fast and as the door only shook slightly at his efforts to open it. It rattled in its frame again, as shadows shifted under it. He could only take a guess that Zatanna was sitting now against it, as her sniffling could be heard through the door. The sound itself was quiet, but deafening to John’s ears. He sighed, resigning himself to sitting and leaning, pushing back against that very same door as he tried once more to apologize.

In his own, roundabout way, naturally.

“We both know I’m shit outta luck when it comes to  _empathizing_  with you about your  _dad_ ,” he started, letting his head fall back against the wood. “But all of this… this moping around Zee? It isn’t really  _you_. It’s… it’s like walking with the  _wounded_.”

He sighed a moment as she quieted. One last, loud sniff and a few lingering seconds of silence. “You been carrying that weight way too far, luv. You’re so damn strong. And seeing you down like  _this_ …”

Damn, maybe there  _was_  something to this empathy thing. Or maybe it was the house again. Using it’s connection to them both, signal boosting their connection to one another. He could feel that familiar hole in his chest then, that aching loss, like a fresh wound tearing through his heart. Something that Zatanna must have felt all too often, when missing her father on days like this.

“I don’t know any  _magic words_  that’ll make it better,” he admitted, chuckling without humor, “I damn know better ‘an anyone that drinking away your feelings won’t help  _you_  none. But, Zee… I know you can push past this. You’ve done it before. You’ll do it now. And when it happens in the future you’ll do it again.”

He heard the lock click but couldn’t be bothered to stand back up. He was on a roll, and in a mood now.

“I know we may not always be  _there_  for each other. But I’m here  _now_ , alright? I want that to count for  _something_.”

Nearly toppling backwards onto her feet, he was caught off-guard as the door swung open. She took a step back as his head hit the floor, and leaned over him to look him in the eyes as she smiled sadly.

“It does. Count for something, that is. But only if you pour me a drink, and actually  _listen_  to me this time.”

He held his hand up, both for her to shake, and in a plea for her assistance in getting off the floor. “It’s a deal.”


End file.
